


Sweeten the Bitterness

by reiette



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Ambiguous Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiette/pseuds/reiette
Summary: In due time, a bitter young college kid begins to slacken his grip on his hate for the taste of the bitterness he's never liked before, thanks to a certain sweet barista who turns his perception on it’s head.





	

  
《 ****♡ 》  


Rich, deep sounds drip from his voice, matching the drip of warm coffee. He’s known for having a melodic singing voice, but while on the job he settles for humming along to the songs he recognizes, a sweet tone only rivaled by the amount of sugar in each coffee cup. He shimmies a little to the beat of “Santa Baby” as he pivots and turns around to present the lovely customer her coffee with a wink. His humming fades out as he smiles toward her, the soft crinkles around his eyes becoming more apparent as his smile widens. Through his now half-closed eyelids and long lashes, it’s hard to see the deep blue hues in Lance's eyes, contrasting with cocoa-colored hair that frames smooth, brown skin.

“Here’s your Peppermint Mocha! Do you want me to sign it or can I make it out to ‘beautiful’?” 

It may have been a little much, but this was his way of complimenting the customers while also reminding them they forgot to tell him their name. Uncapping the marker and twirling it in his left hand, he rests his head in the other, patiently waiting for the unknown beauty’s name. 

And okay, maybe if she said she’d rather not _before_ he made the drink, she wouldn’t agree after, but it was worth a try. As she opened her mouth, the palpable anticipation clinging to Lance was quickly wiped off his face as she made her point.

“How’re gonna write it on there after you made my coffee? Do you want it to spill?” 

His smile falls and blue eyes questioningly look up—the marker slips through his fingers and onto the countertop. _She didn’t even acknowledge my compliment!_ Putting the money in exact change down on the counter, the unnamed beauty picks up her mocha and walks out the door, the bell’s ring signaling her leave.

A huff escapes his lips as he looks down at the marker in his hand. _No luck, couldn’t even get a rise outta her._ Straightening his posture as the next customer walks up to him, Lance allows an indignant pout to cross his features for only a fraction of a second, until the sight before him makes him reconsider. He can only manage a look of stupor in his temporary daze as his eyes fall upon the man in front of him. The other seems to notice his staring. 

Quickly breaking eye contact, shifting his gaze downward, Lance allows a soft, pensive look wash over his features. He composes himself rather quickly, taking a deep breath of the coffee-filled aroma surrounding him for good measure. Lance thinks the man seems quite the gentleman, as he offers to let the little children behind him skip him in line. Although they decline, Lance doesn’t see that sort of etiquette in the fast paced world of getting-your-morning-coffee very often. 

Not only is his soft smile as sweet as sugar, but so is his tone as he requests a simple cappuccino with soy milk. Lance delays a moment longer to let his eyes linger on the sight of his broad chest (& likely well-defined muscles underneath the beige trench coat he wears) & the impressive scar over the bridge of his nose, making him look like a hero emerged straight out of the pages of a comic book, bathed in the early morning light. The stranger parts his lips, words jumbling at the forefront of his mouth, forcing him to shut it. Not moment later (Lance never misses a beat), Lance picks up where he left off with a warm smile, “Could I get your name, sir?”

“─Shiro.” 

“Got it! It’ll be right out, Shiro.” As he turns around to work the buttons for the base of the drink, he lets the cup fill _just shy_ of the top, then adds a pinch of cinnamon to make the topping.

“Cappuccino,” came the monotone voice of the worker handling the orders, obviously not enjoying their job. Regardless, Shiro thanked them as he took his coffee back to the table Keith chose to sit at. As Shiro sits down, adjusting his beige beanie with a gloved hand, he addresses Keith, who is sitting across from him & staring intently at the wooden table, dark circles apparent, a pout settling on his lips. 

“Try it. It’s probably warmer than you are right now.” He says this with the most gentle, loving smile that Keith can’t help but accept. Who is he to turn down such a genuine offer?

Bare fingertips tentatively reach for the cup, before pulling each finger back one by one into a fist in hesitation. While Keith brings his hands up to his mouth to exhale on them, Shiro moves the cup closer to him. Giving a slight nod of thanks, slender fingers wrap around the cup, held in both hands, as he makes sure to inhale the sweet aroma before trying it. He had never liked coffee, but he always humored Shiro’s requests, & honestly, the whip cream smelled really sweet, balancing out the bitterness of coffee. _Fuck lactose intolerance._ He took a sip. It didn’t have milk. _He remembered._ A faint smile graces his lips for only a fraction of a second. 

The coffee isn’t that bad, he decides.

With only his mullet and crop jacket to shield him from the cold, the warmth from the drink is very much appreciated, even if the taste of coffee had much to be desired, or so thinks Keith, the college boy bitter to the core with a surprising sweet tooth. Shiro knows this of course, but ever so slightly pushes his boundaries a little at a time. 

Shiro realizes the boy is shivering, though the Starbucks is warm enough, but Keith refuses to take his intense gaze off the table to make eye contact with the man across the table. Shiro doesn’t wait for a signal; he knows Keith too well to expect a plea for help from him. Shiro gets up and sits next to the shorter boy, taking off his jacket to reveal a fuzzy grey sweater underneath. Shiro drapes his beige coat over the shivering boy, ready to pull away as Keith leans into him and suddenly Shiro is wrapping his scaf around Keith’s neck and his arms around Keith. The younger boy’s grey eyes slowly flutter shut, realizing fatigue had to overtake him at some point. Why not on this cold winter morning; it was Saturday anyway. Shiro doesn’t move; he knows Keith hasn’t dressed in layers, he could use the warmth.

The ten minutes they stay like that, time seems to freeze around them. And once they break apart, the feeling of Shiro’s touch lingers on Keith’s skin. It was familiar, _safe._ Keith usually doesn’t hug or let others hug him, but Shiro is one exception carved in stone. Shiro is the family he never had. And so, Keith turns his head, his now disheveled hair hanging on his face and clinging to Shiro’s sweater via static electricity, watching as Shiro slowly finishes his coffee. 

Deciding to get up and order something of his own, he leaves Shiro’s jacket in the chair and gets up, boots clacking on the dull brown tile floors. His entire get-up was made up of jet blacks and chocolate browns, despite Shiro advising against it. As Keith slowly approaches the cashier, Lance zeros in on the one article of clothing that doesn’t fit Keith’s black-brown leather aesthetic. Shiro’s scarf, a soft pastel pink, stood very prominent, and though Lance can’t quite place it as Shiro’s, he knows it doesn’t belong to the young man in front of him.

Slipping a barely audible “─Hi,” for formality’s sake, Keith then places his order as he shoves both hands in his pockets. “I’d like a mocha please,” the young man’s gloom-filled lavender eyes never break contact with the barista’s bright ocean blue ones, grey beanie shimmering in the light overhead, a cute pout on his features, arms crossed over his chest. With the young man’s ever-so-slight swaying, Lance notices his beanie is definitely sparkling.

The boy’s emo biker look was just that, a look. Knee-high chocolate boots, skin-tight leather pants, sable crop leather jacket, tongue and lower lip piercings─all belying an interesting, less harsh personality. _How cute._ Lance slips into a dreamy look and a smoother voice to address the customer. “Got a name I can make this out to?” He’s expecting the boy to give into his charm, blinded to the sarcasm that takes it’s place. 

“Know someone who doesn’t?” Keith sighs, exasperated, it’s just his luck to get stuck with the employee who engages in such meaningless chatter. He looks down, momentarily confused. _Why would he need my name…_ Both boys are at a loss. 

Lance pauses for one embarrassing moment, unsure how to resolve the disconnect until he notices the boy’s fleeting consternation, and immediately starts to form a plan. In trying to bridge the gap between him and the customer, Lance is willing to give in a bit, “─Charming are we? Chill a bit, you look a li’l tense. I just need it to write your name on the cup─ ** _!_** "–at Keith’s unamused expression, he adds–“and decorate it!”

At this, Keith raises and eyebrow out of pure confusion, and lets his arms fall out of their crossed position, offering a shrug. “It’s Keith.”

**Author's Note:**

> this _was_ a joke. but then. hm.
> 
> “It doesn't matter where you're from - or how you feel... There's always peace in a strong cup of coffee.” [[X](http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/373731-it-doesn-t-matter-where-you-re-from---or-how-you)]  
> ― Gabriel Bá, Daytripper


End file.
